Lost in Shadows (Lost)

by Anita DeVito

  “When they are lying.” She snapped the finish to his sentence. “If you don’t want to answer a question, just say you don’t. I won’t tolerate being lied to or dismissed. I won’t tolerate you treating me like I’m a moron.”

  “I don’t think you’re a moron! For Christ’s sake, Carolina, be reasonable.”

  She spun on her high heels. “You want me to be reasonable? Fine. What was wrong, Jeb? What was wrong? Was somebody stalking us? Were we being followed again?”

  He ran his hands through his hair and paced away from her.

  “That’s what I thought.” She shook her head sadly. As quickly as her temper flashed, it burned out, leaving her feeling infinitely sad and completely empty. “Go to bed, Jeb.”

  “No, Carolina. Don’t walk away from me.” He caught her arm. “I…I didn’t like you doing that. I didn’t like you…being on the arm of another man. I get so angry when I think about it all that I…” He held out his hands. They were shaking.

  She looked up into those turbulent eyes, alive with jealousy and frustration. She didn’t see tenderness or love. That hurt, and she couldn’t keep it from cracking her voice. “How did you not know that I hated it? How did you not know that all I wanted to do was find a dark corner and snuggle into you where no one else could see?”

  Convinced he wouldn’t answer, she turned to the night.

  He spun her quickly back, dipping his chin and locking his mouth to hers. She tried to pull away but he held her face to feast upon her lips. His thick, calloused fingers stroked the sensitive skin on her bare neck, loving the curves of her face, of her shoulders. She stepped away from him, holding herself rigid, but he wrapped his arm around her back and held her to him. He lavished her with the attention she had craved through the night, wrapping his arms around her back. With each touch of his lips, the sting she felt eased. The cold, lonely corners filled with the heat that always came with his touch. Her body softened, molding to his hard lines. He pulled back to press little kisses to the corners of her mouth.

  “You’re still an ass,” she said, lifting her chin to improve his access.

  He dropped his head to taste the base of her throat, her collarbone, and that spot behind her ear that made her knees weak. A long, soft sigh escaped. “I won’t—”

  “Don’t, Jeb. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Let’s walk. I need the fresh air and big sky.”

  He tangled his fingers with hers, keeping the contact. She didn’t talk but kept her eyes on the sky as they walked deeper into the farm. It was the first time she’d walked farther than the garage. The fields had been harvested, the remnants of the season’s work lay flat against the ground.

  He teased her palm with his fingers.

  She snatched her hand away, glaring.

  “You’re still pissed. I thought you’d forgiven me. I guess I’ll just have to work harder.” He tugged on her hand, snapping her back into his arms, slamming her body against the length of his. He took her mouth again and swallowed her quick squeal of surprise. He gave her no option for retreat, demanding she keep up with the pace he set.

  She pushed at his broad shoulders, fighting for breath. “Jeb.”

  “Carolina,” he answered, wrapping his arm around her lower back.

  “Jeb,” she said again, stepping backward until the firm length of a tree brought her up short. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m apologizing. Aren’t you listening?” He opened the coat she wore and slid it from her shoulders. He ran his hands along her curves, hugging them as her dress did. Suddenly, she detested that material that kept them from being skin to skin. His hands crawled up the back of her dress, his fingers found the zipper, the dress found the ground. The bra he flung was caught by a pine tree, and his hands filled with her breasts. He bowed his head, licking at nipples made hard in the cool night air.

  “Jebediah.” She didn’t recognize the whisper as her own, the plea as he filled the empty well of her soul.

  “Shhh. I’m still apologizing here.” He spun her into the night, moving her sensitive skin away from the rough edges of the tree bark.

  She stumbled, tripped over her dress, and came out of her shoes. Her fingers clutched his forearms, digging in to his roped muscles.

  His strong arms held her tightly as he danced her across the path to the small wooden dock that overlooked the fishing pond. “Take off my shirt.” His husky voice betrayed his need.

  She stood in her bare feet on the rough wood of the dock, her body and mind as at odds as the white moon and the black sky. Her nipples were taut, her skin tingling in anticipation of the sensations those rough hands created. There was no doubt, no denying that her body wanted him, but she still resented his jealousy, resented his shutting her out.

  He shrugged out of the shirt and laid it over the wooden planks. “You’re thinking too much when you should be accepting my apology.” He cupped her breast as he tipped her off-balance, lowering her down onto the shirt and covering her body with his. The warmth of his mouth replaced his hand.

  She threw her anger aside, arching to him, in offering, in acceptance. She lifted his face, needing to read him. His gray eyes, hazing with lust, lifted to drink in the sight of her, his mouth still feasting at her breast. His gaze darted past her head, flickered back to her but, just as fast, was gone again.

  She followed his gaze to a dark stain on the dock.

  “Son of a bitch.” He popped up to his feet, panting like a sprinter crossing the line. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Jeb?” She felt exposed as he retreated. She brought her knees up, her hands crossing protectively over her bare breasts as she sat in the moonlight. The mix of light and shadows over his hard, long lines was pure poetry, devastating artistry.

  He backed away clumsily, a colt on new legs. His gaze raked the area, constantly in motion, as he retrieved her dress. “Get dressed.”

  Devastation, humiliation, mortification were vultures tearing at her psyche. She shivered uncontrollably, thick tears blinding her, as she pulled on the dress. She had no way to process the change in him. No way to understand how he could strip her bare—literally and proverbially—and leap away as if she’d burned him. It wasn’t like Hooker and Cooper had found them.

  Or had they?

  Her heart skipped a beat. She staggered as she climbed to her feet. “J-Jeb? Did they f-find us?”

  He kept his body squarely in front of her, looking back and forth through the night. “No, and they’re not going to. I’m putting you in a safe house.”

  “Why now? I don’t understand.”

  He turned then, his gray eyes flat and cold. “It’s easy to understand. You are leaving tomorrow. Let’s go in. You’re tired.”

  “If…if nobody’s here…then why…?”

  “We need your shoes. Maybe I should carry you. It would be faster.”

  She shuffled to the dirt path where her discarded shoes lay. She would not be carried around, corralled in another place by someone who thought he knew what was best for her.

  Jeb circled her wrist with his thumb and index finger. She barely felt his touch but knew she couldn’t break free. He didn’t speak as he led her past the barn, past the garage, into the courtyard, to his bedroom. “You’re cold. Do you want the heat turned on?”

  She stood in the middle of his bedroom, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach as she tried to keep the pieces together.

  He didn’t wait for her answer but went to the thermostat on the wall and made an adjustment. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll get you out of here.” Without looking back, he left the room.

  Seconds turned into minutes. She waited, but he didn’t come back. He didn’t take back the harsh words and ugly tone. He didn’t say it was a mistake.

  The paralysis caused by rejection abated. Movement brought a flood of emotions, none of them good, all overwhelming. She turned in a slow circle, unsure what to do. This room that had brought her comfort and love was now ugly.

  �
�I can’t stay here.”

  …

  “We’ll leave at six. Gupta is expecting us. Everything we need to be prepared is in the gun house.” Jeb carefully folded the schematic filling the table between him and Beck.

  “Clyde, you planning to knock off a convenience store? ’Cause I can spot you some pocket change if it means keeping you boys on the sheriff’s good side.” Butch leaned against the doorjamb.

  Jeb turned his flat, gray eyes on his brother. “Clyde, I’ve been milking you like a Guernsey cow for half a year. No need to turn those pockets inside out now.”

  Butch laughed, pushed off the painted wood, and sauntered into the kitchen. “So are you going to tell me what you’re up to?” He smiled slow and easy.

  “Jeremy Miller is coming home tomorrow.”

  “Well that’s nice for him, but what does it have to do with us?”

  “He’s the Tallahassee writer who has Kennedy’s boys after Carolina,” Beck said.

  Jeb nodded. “We’re going to meet him at the airport and have a little conversation.”

  “You need a trip to the gun house to have a conversation with a man?” Butch asked. “Here I thought Finch was finally teaching you some etiquette. Or are you expecting trouble?”

  Jeb kept his face controlled, all business. “It’s only trouble if you don’t know it’s coming.”

  “Do you think Finch’s move worked?”

  He shrugged. “Until I met Finch, I didn’t believe the pen was mightier than the sword. I’ve raised an awful lot of hell with a sword. What that man can do with words? Well, it’s downright scary. I absolutely believe that what Finch did changed this game, I’m just not sure how. I can’t take the chance that one chat over whiskey and a little bit of money will make the problem just go away.”

  Beck rose and swept a hand through his thick hair. “I’m going to get some rest, Jeb. I’ll be ready by five thirty.”

  “All right. ’Night, Beck.” Jeb started to rise but held his seat when Butch took Beck’s empty chair. “Clyde, something you want to talk about or you just looking to deprive me of a few hours in a warm bed next to a soft body.”

  “You ain’t pinning that one on me. You did that all on your own.”

  He furrowed his brow and glared. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Carolina. She came to my studio and asked if she could sleep on our couch.”

  He swore under his breath. “You didn’t say yes, did you?”

  “What the hell was I supposed to do? She was barefoot, and I know she was crying even though she hid behind all that hair.” Butch scowled at him. “I hate it when women cry. I can’t take it.”

  “You’re a marshmallow, just like Katie says.”

  “Yeah, well, I took her to our place. Katie got up and is watching over her now. She put her in our spare room. I ran like the devil himself was after me, and I’m not ashamed.”

  With a thud, Jeb’s hand fell heavily to the table. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

  Butch stretched out his long legs. “Well, if you want some advice from a married man…”

  Jeb pointed his finger and cut him off. “You’ve been married for a week. And this is your fourth marriage. Hell no, I don’t want advice from you.”

  A slow smile crept across Butch’s face as he watched his older brother suffer.

  “Fine, Clyde, what should I do?”

  Butch leaned forward, looked left and right to see who might be listening and then laid it out. “Grovel.”

  “Grovel?”

  “Absolutely. Tell her you were an ass, that you’re sorry and that you’ll make it up to her.”

  “She already thinks I’m an ass.”

  “Well, that should help things along.”

  He groaned “Shit. Is that all you got? Say I’m sorry and that I’ll make it up to her?”

  Butch leaned back in his chair, the teacher imparting wisdom. “You have to really be sorry and actually make it up to her. So what did you do, anyway?”

  Jeb pushed away from the table and paced. “I don’t know. She was pissed at me the whole ride home. She said I was an ass and a liar. I agreed I was an ass even though I really wasn’t and I didn’t really lie, either. And I tried to make it up to her. Right there on the pier under the moon.”

  “Tried? On the pier? At the pond?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Do we have another pier?”

  “I thought you didn’t go back there anymore. What happened?”

  “I realized I was being a selfish bastard. I’m supposed to be guarding her, protecting her. Instead, I’m running around seriously considering how to kill any man who looks at her with anything more than manners.” He ran a hand over his tired face, fighting to get the words out, before they burned a hole in him. “That woman distracts me, and I can’t see the forest for the one, sexy tree standing in front of me. I can’t afford that kind of mess-up. I can’t afford to be blind. The last time…”

  Butch leaned forward. “None of us saw it, Jeb. None of us.”

  He didn’t accept the excuse, never would. “I should have. It was my job to.”

  Butch cocked his head, his own gray eyes scrutinizing Jeb. “You can’t make up for it. None of us can.”

  Jeb snorted. “Forgive and forget?”

  “Accept and move on. We don’t control the past. It’s done. It is what it is. It’s what comes next that we have some say in.”

  He pursed his lips, seeing the reason in the sentiment. “You quotin’ me lyrics?”

  Butch raised an eyebrow. “That was pretty good, wasn’t it?” He fetched pencil and paper from the corner of the table and scribbled. “Yeah. We’ll see what that turns into. Now, why is Carolina sleeping in my spare room?”

  “God damn it. How should I know? I said she should go to a safe house until this was over, and she stopped talking to me. I figured she was just tired. You know…”

  “Wore out.” Butch stood up and crossed the kitchen, regarding his brother from the doorway. “You, being you, ordered her away, didn’t you? Better be careful, Jebediah, or she’ll do exactly what you say. Take care, tomorrow. I expect to see you at dinner.”

  Jeb’s head was loud and turbulent after Butch left. He had done what was right. Carolina had to understand that. He walked through the living room to the dark bedroom but had no interest in going in, not without her there. “This is stupid.” Light flooded the empty room, showing the dark blue bedspread lay crisply across the wide bed. She hadn’t even gotten into bed. He left to go meet Beck, trusting her to go to sleep, and she had run.

  Jeb spun, striking out at the wall. “I’m not chasing her.” A hot shower soothed tired muscles, readied him for bed.

  But sleep didn’t come.

  He fluffed the pillow under his head and turned onto his side. His knees came up and created the cradle that perfectly nestled her bottom.

  “Shit.” He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Even with the windows closed, the muted sound of his brother’s guitar came through. Was she listening, too?

  On his stomach, arms and legs spread wide, pictures of her trapped under his body flooded his mind. He tossed and turned, losing the pillow twice and getting his legs knotted in the covers.

  “This is stupid. I need sleep.” He took his pillow and went out to the couch. Under the thin throw blanket, with his feet hanging off the end, he closed his eyes. An hour went by in the blink of an eye. He slept but not soundly, his shallow dreams filled with images of Carolina.

  Defeated, he rolled off the couch and padded through the darkened halls to his brother’s rooms. In the front guest bedroom, she lay on her back, her hand reaching out. The sheets and covers were twisted, more off the bed than on. He wasn’t the only one who suffered, and that little bit of insight pushed him into the room.

  He gathered the covers, untwisted them, and gently lowered his weight to the bed. The pale light enhanced her beauty and he couldn’t resist kissing her petal-soft cheek.
r />   “Jeb?” she asked sleepily, confused.

  Knowing she was more asleep than not, he caressed the back of her neck until she sighed. “Shhh, go back to sleep, baby. It’s the middle of the night.” He curled around her until he cradled her hips just the way he liked. He wrapped an arm around her waist and willed himself to sleep. There were only hours left until duty would call and somewhere, deep in his gut, he knew blood would be shed.

  …

  The small, electronic sound pulled Carolina from an ocean of sleep a fathom deep. Something moved beside her, brushed against her body, pressed against her face. Jeb. Even in her sleep, she knew him. Reality invaded, cold and unforgiving. He had wrapped her in a fiery heat that burned her to the core, branded her as his, and then turned coldly away, decreeing he was sending her away. King to peasant. Away with you.

  She stiffened as his fingers touched her hair, lingered, and then he was gone. Like the night before, he turned his back, walking away without another thought. He was killing her, slowly, surely, as he toyed with her. Drawing her close, pushing her away. She was the sappy woman whose heart rose each time he drew closer and shattered anew each time he walked away. She turned her face into the pillow and cried her heart out.

  When the tears ran dry, she went quickly to his rooms. Knowing they would all be in the kitchen, she took the private time to shower and come up with a plan of her own. He didn’t need to send her away. She was leaving. And if he didn’t like it…well…well, she didn’t give a damn.

  She walked into the kitchen with her chin held high. “Morning, y’all.”

  “Hey.”

  “Morning.”

  The answering greetings came from Tom and Katie. They were just beginning breakfast and welcomed her offer to make eggs. The pair chattered on about samples and reports and Katie’s father and boysenberry jelly. She set out the plates, two shy of enough if Jeb and Beck were eating.

  Carolina wasn’t going to lower herself to ask where he went. Clearly, she didn’t mean enough for him to tell her himself. She rapped the egg against the edge of the stainless steel pan. The shell crumbled in her hand, the cold egg dripped through her fingers. “Damn it.”